


the less I give, the more I get back

by badboy_fangirl



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badboy_fangirl/pseuds/badboy_fangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Elena admits to herself that when she remembers sex with Damon she's not quite as detached about it as she is about sex with Stefan.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the less I give, the more I get back

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** Everything through 4x16, and influenced by the preview for 4x17.
> 
> I imagine that eventually I will have a fic entitled from every line of The Civil Wars "Poison & Wine." Because Damon. And Elena. Especially switched-off Elena. How weird is that? Also, this is not what I planned (surprise, surprise!) when I decided to "rob Damon of his dignity." His reaction surprised me, as did Elena's. As always, I blame semele. FOR EVERYTHING.

She kisses him on a rooftop.

His mouth is delicious, his tongue dominant but playful; Elena admits to herself that when she remembers sex with Damon she's not quite as detached about it as she is about sex with Stefan.

It's not that she has _feelings_ about it, but she sure as hell can recall the sensations, and they were better than good. Better than great. 

She could be crude and just say Damon is better in bed than Stefan, but she's not sure that's it exactly. She never had sex with Stefan as a vampire, so it's not a fair comparison.

Not that she cares about fair, per se, and she has no desire to do a taste test. Right now, she doesn't care about anything except Damon's tongue swirling around hers, and his hands running down her back to her ass to pull her tight against him. Nothing matters except that small sound in the back of his throat when she adjusts her stance just so that the notch between her legs catches his erection perfectly.

(A make over in New York City included some high heels that gave her some leverage.)

Damon is wild and free, he always has been; she just couldn't appreciate it when she wasn't also wild and free. Now that they are in that place together, it only makes it that much more amazing.

In fact, life is more amazing with each passing minute. Fresh warm blood whenever she wants it, this man, making love to her mouth, his body calling out to hers in some way that can only be described as primitive, the spring air of the city like a light blanket resting over them. Everything feels so alive; _she_ feels so alive.

( _I've never seen you more alive._ )

New York is a magical place, Damon is a magical vampire, and Elena feels...

She jerks her head back, breaking the kiss that had evolved into many, that had gone on for an age. Damon blinks languidly and the arousal pressed against the juncture of her thighs shows in his face, from his puffy lips to his glazed-over eyes. He watches her with sleepy alertness, and whatever had bothered her momentarily fades away.

She ~~loves~~ enjoys this about him; no secret agenda, no manipulation. He's not making out with her to achieve anything other than the normal course such action should take. So she grabs his hand and draws him with her over to a conveniently placed lounge chair. He follows without a word, and when she tugs him down on top of her, he eagerly lies between her thighs, his fingers filtering through her hair.

(He likes her new cut and the pink extensions. _Hot,_ he said, his eyes sliding over her from top to bottom in frank appreciation.)

This is the other thing she ~~loves~~ enjoys about him: he's in no hurry.

She knows she'll be the first to pull his clothes off; she'll set the pace. She'll invite him inside her with a nod and a smile, and her first sex with no emotions will be the best ever, because lust doesn't need love or hate, anger or happiness. It just needs a willing body.

(And Damon has always been willing, after all.)

 

 

He lets her kiss him on the rooftop. 

She's giddy, full of mischief. Adventure agrees with Elena Gilbert.

 _Be honest, you like me better like this_.

In some ways, yes. In some ways, this has been a fantasy he never even let himself entertain for half a second; because really, when would Elena Gilbert ever just shut it off and revel? It would have to be a fluke. High on blood at a frat party as long as Bonnie couldn't see what she was doing, but the minute it was over, it had been _over_.

Truth be told, he sort of keeps waiting ~~hoping~~ for that to happen now. She's going to look up at him one of these times after she's almost drained someone dry, and abject horror will have erupted all over her face.

Maybe, as she arches under him, her neck offered up willingly while her hands slide under his shirt, something is about to happen _right now_. Maybe he keeps kissing her softly and thoroughly because he thinks that's what it will take.

"Bite me," she commands; it's not an invitation. He does it somewhat unwillingly, and she has an orgasm, fully clothed beneath him.

(In the bathroom at the Grill, he'd been so turned on while she drank from him. She'd been too hungry to focus on the similar feeling building within her, but it had been the same slow burn that they'd experienced so many other times together. It hadn't been rushed or instantaneous. It had been the precursor to that night they shared, when every crevice had to be explored, when every movement was mirrored, kiss for kiss, touch for touch. When each of them had wanted the other to come first.)

This moment passes, and her deep breaths slap against his forehead. Then she grabs him by the lapels of his shirt, ripping it open in the process, and reversing their positions so he's beneath her on the chaise-lounge. Damon hadn't been comparing it to their previous encounters until just that moment, when for whatever reason it felt so...unnatural for her to tear his clothes from him.

(For her to come without even touching him in return.)

(Which is ridiculous. It's probably much more natural here and now; she's enjoying the moment, she's totally caught up in it.

Right?

And he is, too. Totally.)

She slides her hands down his chest, over his belly, and as she hooks her thumbs down into the front of his jeans, she leans over him to kiss him again. It's all tongue, but not in the way Damon's familiar with her. It's not open-mouthed and soft, it's not him having to coax her out a bit, even when he can feel her urgency. He's always had to lead a little, because Elena is just an 18-year-old girl. 

Right now, with her tongue seemingly trying to wedge its way down his throat, she couldn't be more porn star-esque if she tried. Then, she yanks Damon's pants open and she's holding his abruptly limp dick in her hand.

They both look down at the same moment, and the only thing Damon can think to say is, "Oh, shit."

Because that? It doesn't really happen to him. Like ever. He's a vampire, for fuck's sake. He's been known to be bleeding out and have an erection at the same time. And if he had a dollar for every time Elena Gilbert had made him hard for no apparent reason, he'd probably have a _million_ singles shoved in one of his sock drawers.

Elena's hand tugs on him, not harshly, but almost as if to say, _it's broken_. She drags her gaze up to his, the question there for both of them.

It starts to make sense to Damon, what Stefan saw; how Elena told him that Stefan thought she needed to be fixed. Maybe this is what happened to his brother, metaphorically speaking. (He's sort of always seen his brother as either a flaccid penis or some guy on Viagra who didn't fucking need it to begin with.)

Maybe Damon is just as idiotic as Stefan in thinking a little wining and dining would make Elena turn it all back on. That here, in this place with him, he'd suddenly be enough, when he's never been before, ever, for anyone, especially her.

When he knows that a vampire choosing to live down the long empty tunnel from its emotions needs something to catch them by surprise; like a girl in a kitchen saying just the right thing at just the right time to someone who hadn't had anyone care in a very long time. It's someone offering understanding when you're not even looking for it.

"What's the problem?" Elena asks, a little quaver trembling through.

Damon shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

A better question might be, _what's not the problem?_ Ugh. _Fuck his life_.

 

 

Elena has felt Damon go soft before. After he spilled himself down her throat. 

Never before. Never in the middle of something like this. In fact, she can remember lots of times he was hard and she had to pretend she didn't know it. (In Slater's apartment in Richmond; the night he bit her when he was dying from a werewolf bite; on her birthday, when he'd given her the full monty; _Denver_.) 

Sudden embarrassment overwhelms her, and she can't help but wonder why if she's able to shut out anger, despair, and compassion, that this one thing manages to break through the cracks.

It's stupid. If anyone should be embarrassed, it's Damon; it's his penis, after all.

(Of course, it's kinda her job to make it work right, though.)

She snatches her hand away and scoots off him so that her hip rests on the cushion beneath them. "What's the problem?" she asks, and she hopes she sounds clinical about the whole thing. It's not like she's asking _what's wrong with me?_ Nothing's wrong with her. She's just dandy. She's Elena, switched-off and blazing a trail of glory all over NYC.

"Oh, you know," he says, that going-for-the-joke tone in his voice. "It happens sometimes."

"Maybe to old guys, but it shouldn't happen to you," she says.

Damon's forehead wrinkles, and he throws his head back against the chair. "It happens to young guys, too," he responds, but at her look of _oh, really?_ he plows on with, "I guess I'm just tired." Elena suddenly feels like she's watching an episode of _Grey's Anatomy_. "Maybe it's stressful chasing the cure?" he adds, almost like a suggestion.

Her first instinct is to try again. Leave a trail of kisses across his jaw, down his neck, breathe his name into his ear; maybe that would bring it back. But she doesn't do it. 

She's not quite sure why, why this is when Damon doesn't want her, when she's finally just like him.

She tries to sit up and move away from him, but his arms surround her, preventing her escape. "We can just cuddle," he offers, and there is something both sweet and ridiculous about it.

(Maybe because the other thing Elena remembers with distinct clarity and warmth are those nights when Stefan was gone and Damon slept in her bed just to keep her company.)

She squirms out of his embrace, getting to her feet. "I said I wanted to do it on a rooftop!" The words leap from her mouth in an almost-snarl, startling them both. She barely restrains herself from clapping a hand over her mouth while Damon's eyes go wide for just a moment.

He watches her thoughtfully and says as he stacks his hands behind his head, "Actually, what you said is: you've never done it on a rooftop." Her eyes are drawn back to his cock, which is still lying limply, his pants undone and hanging open.

"Why aren't you hard?" she asks because she can't understand this conversation they are having at all. _Why don't you care?_

"I don't know, Elena. Maybe if you give me a minute, I'll get there."

His voice is so soft, almost but not quite a whisper. It scrapes against her nerve endings, and she finds herself scrubbing her hands down her arms defensively, trying to get rid of the feeling.

He sits up slowly, and she watches while he tucks himself back into his pants. He doesn't look at her.

She stood in his bedroom just 24 hours ago. _Be honest,_ she said, _you like me better like this_. He tilted his head, his eyes dancing over her face. He hadn't said a word in agreement or argument. He gave a little shake of his head, and then he reached for her hand. "What do you say to a little road trip? I've got a lead, and you're the only company I want."

Embarrassment gives way to a feeling she can't even identify. If Damon lied to her--if he just brought her along to keep an eye on her, not because he actually wanted her with him--if this whole thing isn't real? When everything with Damon has always been real?

She just has no idea what to do with that.

She wants to not care about it, the way she didn't care if it scared Caroline when she'd threatened Liz; she hadn't cared about the hurt she saw on Stefan's face when she talked about their past indifferently, when she basically told him to go get a life.

If Damon can't get it up for her, what does it matter? She could find someone on the busy streets below them, she could compel someone to be hard all night if she wanted. She could have one long-lasting orgasm from now until dawn.

"Elena..." he says, standing up.

_Should I go back to being the scared little girl who couldn't admit what she wants?_

"I always wanted you," she says instead. 

Their eyes meet with a force akin to a blow in her solar plexus; she sucks in more air and rushes on. "From the very beginning. The first time we met, on the road? I thought you were the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. And then when we met again, at your house? I didn't know why, but you were familiar. I thought I'd dreamed about you, seen you somewhere in my imagination. And there were so many times after that. But I kept it locked up in here." She places her hand over her heart, her fingers curling into her shirt. "I lied to you and told you I didn't want you, that I would never do that, but you knew. You always knew. Didn't you?"

He looks at her with that same melty, confused expression, the one he'd worn in his room the night before, the one that cleared away when he invited her to come with him on this trip. "Yes," he replies, his voice still ominously quiet. "I knew you wanted me. The problem is, Elena, I wanted you to love me."

(She knows that. And he's right, that's always been the problem.)

 

 

She goes from gentle and confessional, almost totally real!Elena-like to mean and haughty in a split second. "So, we couldn't have sex when there was a sire bond because you didn't know for sure if I really wanted it, and now that we know that I do, we can't do it because you think I don't love you? God, Damon! I thought you were the fun one!"

He smirks because his face can't contort into any other expression. "If you just want to get off _again_ , I've got fingers," he waggles them for emphasis, "and a tongue. It's not like you need me to _want_ it." It comes out more bitter than he'd planned, but then again, he hadn't planned any of _this_. By now, they should be making love; they should be looking into each other's eyes while he slides in and out of her. He should be making her come, and making her love him, and they shouldn't be _talking_ about this at all. Because a discussion isn't going to bring Elena back.

(Now, possibly, even romance and sheer force of will were off the table, too.)

So, Damon reverts to his default position of Asshat of the Universe; it's the safest thing to do, for both their sakes. "So what's it gonna be? The digits, or the tongue? It's your call."

"You're disgusting," she spits, and suddenly, it's a year ago, and he has learned to time travel without even realizing it.

"Am I now? I thought you didn't _care_ about how _awful_ I am?"

She turns away from him, and crosses her arms over her breasts. "I don't."

"Mmmm-hmmm."

"Shut up, Damon."

He walks up behind her, wraps his arms loosely around her. "I want you, too, Elena." She makes a huffy sound of disbelief and shrugs against him, but doesn't really try to get away. "You do know that sex is largely mental, right? So, if I'm having some mental issue, it has nothing to do with you."

At that she spins out of his arms, rounds on him like she's going to attack him and shouts, "How can it have nothing to do with me? Isn't this all about me?" she demands, and then she punches him hard in the center of his chest.

He would never tell her, but he totally feels his dick perk up at that moment. "See, that's the problem with your switch being off--this happens to all vampires, universally--you've become terribly self-centered. If you want to know the truth, I'm just distracted. It's not because you're not hot, or that I suddenly don't want to fuck you--I have always wanted to fuck you, but you know, even boys like a little romance."

Elena rolls her eyes. "So you want me to seduce you?"

"It might work better than using me for a chew toy, don't you think?" he snipes.

"I just told you, I've always wanted you! What do you want me to do now? Strip?"

He gives her a leer to show he's for that idea, but she's not really offering.

(She's mad at him, and it pleases him in a new and different way.)

"Let's just go back to the hotel," Elena finally says.

He sizes her up, but figures if she comes all the way back, he'll know. She'll go apeshit at some point, and not in the kill-your-brother(best friend) sort of way. When she lets it back in, there will be tears and regret and all the things that insure that she'll keep it at bay as long as possible.

He gestures to the door that leads to the stairwell. "Fine, let's go."

 

 

In their hotel bathroom, Elena brushes her teeth vigorously. It's funny how some things are just muscle memory. She probably doesn't need to brush her teeth as a vampire. Can vampires get cavities? Doubtful.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror and sees that she looks as blank-faced as she professes she feels.

It's only deep down inside that she's struggling with oddities she doesn't really care about. Like, the fact that Damon felt hurt by her, and that's why he couldn't 'perform.' As they drove across town to their hotel it hit her. She _was_ thinking it was all about her, but it really wasn't. 

Well, it _is_ about her, but not about whether or not she turns him on. 

As she looks at herself in the mirror, she realizes she doesn't care, but she also knows some day she might again. Some day it might matter to her that Damon feels used. Some day it might matter enough to him to leave her. 

Oh, she knows that would take decades with Damon, because he's a masochist, but what are decades to a vampire? And she doesn't want him to leave her. She wants Damon, plain and simple. That has always been the truth, and she won't go back on it now. That's the one thing she does care about right now.

So when she walks out of the bathroom and he's still on the phone with Stefan, she just watches him for a silent moment. He's sitting, shirtless, on the edge of the king-sized bed. He finishes the conversation with, "We'll be home tomorrow. Okay. Bye, Stef."

She kneels on the opposite side from him and crawls across the bed slowly. She knows he can feel her coming, but he doesn't move, and that encourages her.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, sliding her cheek along his; his stubble burns a little, but she doesn't mind it. She gives him a little squeeze, pressing her breasts against his back, and he takes a quick, startled breath because she's as naked as he is.

Well, she's more naked, actually, because he's still got his pants on, but she stripped everything off.

He tosses his phone on the bedside table and then lifts his hands to slide them along her arms. He rubs his fingers over her skin, and Elena barely contains a shiver that courses through her body. He turns slightly, and with vampire speed he hauls her around so she's lying across his lap. He doesn't kiss her mouth though; instead he bends her back over his arm and brings her nipples up to his mouth. His tongue skims them into hard little points and then he tugs at them with his teeth so that she whimpers desperately. She presses her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that's been there all evening.

"Damon," she breathes, but he shakes his head, pressing a finger to her lips.

With that same finger, he touches her delicately, down her chin and the line of her throat; he takes a little detour around her left breast, teasing her nipple some more before traveling down to dip into her navel. She arches up, and then he goes lower, still just the one finger trailing over her belly and the springy curls between her legs. By the time he pushes it inside her, her level of anticipation is greater than the actual sensation and she hangs on the precipitous edge, dangling in between heaven and hell.

That's when she feels him, the zipper of his jeans digging into her hip uncomfortably. She fumbles between them (luckily fumbling for a vampire is dexterity for a human), and pulls him out just as he drags his thumb over her clitoris. She seizes up unceremoniously, and all she can do is hold him in a firm grip. She doesn't even stroke him, but it doesn't seem to matter, because he comes all over her belly anyway.

(She wants to tell him she loves him, but she thinks he already knows.)


End file.
